"I swear it sir, the tin went from this counter to the front door and he never stepped foot in here. Would have taken my register too if I hadn't held onto it, it was like arm wrestling Randy Savage." The clerk told his tale with all the fervent tenacity of a drunk campfire story.
"Did you see which way he went?"
"Down Barrack street, god knows where though. Plenty of hobos and bums down that way. There's a shelter down there somewhere, might want to inspect there."
Adrian nodded and thanked the man for his statement.

"Agent Kite," he called as he stepped outside.
"I hope you got spare change on you, we're going into hobo county. If it so happens that I find this guy and he runs, I'll need eyes in the sky. Won't do to let this small fish get away on my first day back."
The sun was beating down hard, but Adrian dared not take off his jacket to reveal the underarm holster beneath and the firearm concealed within. Also the matter of the stain on his shirt.
[i]Is it vomit? God, I hope it isn't vomit.[/i]